


Vocare De Luna

by Brego_Mellon_Nin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys Kissing, Camping, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Mild Gore, Nipple Licking, Sexual Tension, Werewolf Fight, creepy Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:04:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/pseuds/Brego_Mellon_Nin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going into the forest looking for werewolves only armed with a flashlight, sarcasm and a map, really wasn’t one of my better ideas. The proof is right in front of me, wafting its disgusting breath into my face, the smell of putrefied flesh and hot blood making my stomach churn violently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vocare De Luna

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for the Slash Writer's Workshop Plot Bunny Prompt Competition. I chose this prompt:
> 
> _13\. Two friends are camping in the woods and making a documentary about a fabled creature/person in the forest. They become lost and are pursued by the so-called myth. Think Blair Witch Project._
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own anything Teen Wolf.
> 
> Thanks to my beta Corey Smith for help with this one :)
> 
> Banner was made by Jasper1863Hale.

****

**Vocare de Luna**

  
When the ear splitting howl tears through the forest I can feel a chill running down my spine, my skin breaking out in goosebumps. Naturally, Scott barrels into me, already wheezing slightly, apparently preparing for a full asthma attack if it proves pertinent.  
  
“What the _hell_ is that?” he squawks anxiously.  
  
I give him a baleful glare and try to pry his fingers off my arm, where his nails are digging in.  
  
“Well, I’d say I don’t know, but given that we’re here to search for werewolves, I’m gonna go with either a stupid, elaborate prank from Jackson or, yeah, a werewolf.”  
  
Great, now my faithful sidekick - or partner in crime, whatever - is looking positively terrified.  
  
“I thought werewolves weren’t real! I mean, it’s just myth, legends! Stiles, please tell me that’s just a poodle being ambitious!”  
  
I can already feel the headache coming on fast. God, how does he survive on a daily basis?  
  
“Scott, there’s been many and valid sightings of werewolves and a lot of well founded research which points to them being real. I just never figured there’d actually be one here - in Beacon Hills! I mean, this town is like the king of boring with a pinch of vanilla. Seriously!”  
  
Scott is now breathing hard beside me and starts fumbling through his pockets trying to get to his inhaler through the mess of nutrition bars he’s stuffed in there.  
  
“Stiles! You actually believe werewolves are real and you _still_ dragged us out here? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he wheezes.  
  
Now seems like a good time to bring out the stink eye, but I need to make sure he gets his inhaler or else I might need to do CPR on my best friend. Not really a tempting image.  
  
As soon as he’s received his medicine and is breathing normally again, I turn around and start walking in the direction the howl had come from. Scott meeps and follows although he’s staying annoyingly close, a constant stream of _fucking crazy_ and variants of colorful cursing spewing from him. It isn’t long before he grabs my jacket and pulls me to a stop.  
  
“I’m exhausted, Stiles. Can’t we camp here for tonight?” he begs, gesturing to the clearing a little ways to our right. Due to the fact that he has the most potent puppy eyes I’ve ever encountered and the minor detail of it being my fault he’s out here in what is apparently werewolf territory, I relent. We set about pitching the tent and starting a small fire, both to keep animals away and to heat up the canned food we’ve brought.  
  
After satisfying our hunger, we decide to hit the sleeping bags so we can get an early start tomorrow morning. As we lie in the tent listening to the forest’s soundtrack I can’t help but think that if only I hadn’t been paired with Jackson on this stupid Supernatural Myths project, we’d probably be at home playing games until crap o’clock in the night. Naturally though, the douchebag had to claim all the theoretical parts and leave me to try and document the existence of freaking werewolves in the Beacon Hills preserve all by myself.  
  
Naturally I went straight to Scott and begged him to come along. Initially he’d said no, but seeing as I have endless blackmail material in the form of embarrassing facts, ready to be spilled to his girlfriend, Allison, he’d been fairly easy to convince.  
  
Add to that, we were also in serious need of some bro time, what with him mooning after Allison constantly. He knows he’d been a less than awesome friend the first many months of their relationship.  
  
Whatever; let it not be said that Stiles Stilinski cockblocked his best friend!  
  
As I am drifting off to sleep, Scott already snoring beside me, I think I hear a snuffling sound, but before I can concentrate on it, my eyes shut and the world goes black, and I am floating into the land of dreams.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
I am woken by an almighty shriek and in my shock I sit up so fast that the zipper on my sleeping bag rips and my head spins. Before I can even start listing the possible sources for that ungodly noise, Scott scampers into the tent, eyes as wide as they can go.  
  
“Something has been in our camp! Our bags are outside the tent, our things spread all over the place and there’s paw prints, fucking huge _paw prints_ , around the fire!”  
  
Knowing I need to stay calm for Scott’s sake, I take a few deep breaths before getting up and exiting the tent warily. My ADHD afflicted mind is running metaphorical circles around me, attempting to get me to panic, but I’m not going to. Growing up as the sheriff’s kid has at least taught me that panicking in these situations is a tremendously bad idea.  
  
When I look around me, I see the mess Scott was referring to. Our belongings are scattered and several things broken, the bags in tatters at my feet. As I bend to take a look, I spot the tracks that got my companion so riled up and holy fuck, those are some big paws! I’ve seen the prints from German shepherds a lot, practically growing up in the police department after my mum died, and these are quite a bit larger. Now, German shepherds are big enough, so I can only assume that whatever left these in the soft earth around our camp is enormous.  
  
I go to pick up my bag, searching the pockets for my camera. I brought it to document any findings and these are definitely worth including in our report. There is just one little issue, the camera is not in the zip pocket, and neither are the flashlight and satellite phone I stuffed in there in case of emergencies. When I quickly survey the remaining items on the ground I fail to locate any of those things and also, our map seems to be missing. What the hell? Someone snuck into our camp, was quiet enough to snatch the bags from the tent without waking either Scott or me and sentient enough to remove the vital things? Oh, and has huge, clawed paws?  
  
I’ve always been a firm believer in werewolves being real, but I guess that even though I can list all the valid sightings of werewolves from around year 1200 and until now, in chronological order I might add, it hasn’t ever occurred to me that I might meet one. Or what to do in such an event.  
  
Giving up hope on finding the camera I dig in my pocket for my iPhone and take a few shots of the tracks with that instead, thanking the deities that at least whoever broke into our camp didn’t run away with that as well. Not that there’s any signal to be had, but it’s still sort of comforting, the usual weight in my pocket.  
  
I stand up and poke my head back into the tent, where Scott is covering in this sleeping bag.  
  
“Dude, get out here and help me pick this shit up,” I gripe at him.  
  
I’ve already got half the things in the clearing back into the remains of my bag when Scott emerges from the tent, a little pale, but trying to be brave. I sigh and rub my face with a weary hand.  
  
“So, we lost the flashlight, the satellite phone, and our map. Do you know how to navigate by the sun?” I ask my slightly quivering sidekick.  
  
“No, do I look like a Cub Scout to you?” he snipes at me. What a fantastic moment to develop a sense of sarcasm, Scott. I roll my eyes and throw his tattered bag at him.  
  
“Relax, dude, seeing as we are now being invaded by seriously creepy things in the night, I say we give up on this wolf hunt and get back home,” I say, turning slowly on the spot, trying to remember which way we came from last night. It all looks different in the sunlight and frankly, I have no freaking idea which direction to go.  
  
Scott nods frantically and immediately stalks off towards an area where the forest looks a little less dense. His guess is as good as mine, so I shoulder what’s left of my rucksack and follow.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
“Oh my God, this is so _not_ happening!” Scott moans when we happen across our campsite for the second time today. “I keep going in a different direction, but we still end up here. You lead the way, Stiles. Look at the sun or whatever! Just get me out of here already! I wanna call Allison!”  
  
I pray for strength as I pass Scott who is looking dejectedly at the remains of our fire, still sporting gruelling paw print decorations and we set off once again. It’s already starting to get colder and the light is slowly waning. When I take a quick peek at the clock on my phone it says 4:48 pm. So, late afternoon and all we’ve done is walk around, apparently in circles, all day. It’s like epic bad luck.  
  
As we keep wandering, Scott is constantly checking his phone, hoping for signal to send off a text to Allison. His whining at the many failed attempts quickly get on my nerves.  
  
“Dude, could you like, not talk about Allison for five minutes?” I complain angrily. This whole fiasco is starting to wear my patience really thin. It’s not Scott’s fault and I know that he’s usually connected to Allison by the hip, but it also kind of stings a little that he can’t spend just a weekend with me without needing to hear her voice every two seconds. Granted, this trip is now officially a disaster, but none of it was my doing. Apart from dragging us out here in the first place, naturally.  
  
Scott turns an impressive bitch face on me and I can feel his indignation from where I’m standing ten feet away.  
  
“What the hell, man? You hauled me on this shitty trip knowing I don’t really fancy camping and you don’t have a girlfriend. You’ve never had a girlfriend, so you don’t know what it’s like!” he yells at me, completely missing how much that last remark actually hurts me.  
  
After Scott got together with Allison and left me the only eighteen year old virgin in Beacon Hills, it’s been a little lonely for me. I’ve never really had a lot of friends, not many really bother to look past the sarcasm and my constant babbling, but when I had Scott it never really mattered. With me being the sheriff’s son I am excluded from the popular crowd by default. Nobody wants to invite me to any gatherings or parties where underage drinking will most likely happen. I am not a tattletale, not that it matters to them, but I _am_ a spaz with ADHD; lanky and awkward. Those qualities are not ones to get you in with the cool kids.  
  
I used to have the biggest crush on Lydia Martin, the school’s indisputable queen, for more than six years in fact, but she made ignoring me into an olympic sport. Looking on the positive side, I guess I should be grateful that she chose to ignore me instead of torturing me. With that brain of hers she could’ve made my life hell practically without trying.  
  
My epic unrequited crush came to an abrupt halt little over two years ago, when I realized that I might like dick more than boobs. It’s amazing what being overtired and kind of shaky can do for you. I really, truly meant to skip right past that picture of Danny clubbing with his boyfriend on facebook, but somehow my finger slipped and five minutes later, I realized I’d been staring at the handsome, broody dude squished in next to Jackson on the picture for too long for it to pass as mere curiosity. The dude’s face sparked some recognition in me, but it kept evading me and my easily distracted mind soon focused on his soft looking black hair, the stubble covering his chin and the impossibly gorgeous eyes. He wore a t-shirt which clung to him like a second skin and gave the impression of a well defined chest and stomach.  
  
Despite me trying to discover his identity, I had yet to find out who that guy was, but the incident had opened my eyes.  
  
I pull myself together and force my eyes to meet Scott’s, when I say, slowly and clearly, “No, I don’t, do I?” If there’s a slight bitterness to my tone, well, who can blame me really?  
  
My faithful companion looks puzzled for a second, but just as understanding dawns on his features and he starts looking a little repentant, I turn on my heel and march off in a new direction. I can hear Scott following me, but he doesn’t pull out his phone for another half hour at least, which is a very long time by Scott and Allison standards.  
  
A short while later Scott is having trouble breathing and he sullenly asks if we could take a break, maybe pitch the tent so he can take a nap. I figure it can’t really hurt at this point, so I agree and we both climb in our sleeping bags, Scott demonstratively turning away from me.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
My alarm wakes me up an hour later, and the first thing I do is check that our bags are still there and haven’t been opened or moved. All seems to be in order, and I let myself relax, throwing a look at Scott, who’s still snoring softly, his back turned towards me. Even while asleep he seems to be angry with me.  
  
In an attempt to get him to give up on his sulking, I decide to make dinner before waking him up. After a good stretch I grab my clothes and pull it on while still half in the sleeping bag. It might not be winter, but the temperature is chilly and I have no desire to freeze anything off.  
  
I dig out a few cans of beans and exit the tent, where a grisly sight meets me. Now it’s my turn to scream and I dare say mine is more impressive than Scott’s shriek from this morning. Before the last echoes die out, Scott tumbles out of the tent, his arms flailing in a manner that is usually my trademark.  
  
“What? What!” he demands, slightly hysterically.  
  
I can feel my mouth moving, but no sound comes out. All my instincts are screaming at me to get the hell out now, but I’m frozen to the spot, and all I can do is raise a slightly shaking arm, pointing to the reason for all this commotion.  
  
Just a mere twenty feet from our tent, close enough that it’s deliberate, a corpse of a previously beautiful doe lies in a pool of its own blood, its belly ripped open and the entrails spilling out. The throat is torn out, the jagged edges pointing to the culprit having either impressively big teeth or impressively sharp claws. I don’t like either possible conclusion.  
  
Scott is whimpering beside me, his breathing turning a bit wheezy, which is always the first sign of an asthma attack coming on. I know he needs help immediately and the routine breaks me out of my daze as I scurry into the tent, retrieving the inhaler and pass it to my friend, who is now white as a sheet. Even with his medication, it takes a while for him to calm down again and I can understand how he feels. I kind of want to cry and just run until I pass out, wailing the whole way.  
  
The doe’s big eyes are still open, though unseeing, and it’s like the brown gaze is piercing through me. My thoughts are running rampant and I can’t seem to rein them in. Who did this and why would they dump the carcass by our tent? Are we offending someone by being out here? If so, why doesn’t whoever it is just talk to us? Is it some kind of fucked up psycho who enjoys scaring the living hell out of people camping in the woods?  
  
Chills run down my spine and I get that haunted feeling, like someone is standing right out of sight, watching and enjoying my misery and feeding off my fear.  
  
Back right after my mum died I used to have panic attacks a lot, and it freaked my dad out really bad. I got some exercises to do when I could feel the panic coming, in order to prevent it from evolving into a full blown attack, but it’s so long time ago and I can’t remember it all.  
  
I don’t even realize I am shaking until Scott clamps a hand on my upper arm and hiss at me.  
  
“Stiles! Get a grip, man, and let’s pack up our shit. I want to get out of here today!”  
  
I can only nod, my spine still tingling in that unpleasant _someone is watching you_ -way that makes me want to curl up in a ball on the ground and cry for my dad, but I quickly follow Scott into the tent to pack our things up.  
  
Within ten minutes we’re ready to go and the only thing I do before leaving this horrible scene is snap a shot of the corpse for evidence.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
We take to marking the places we’ve been by scratching the trees or arranging some fallen branches in a distinct manner, trying to avoid running in circles, but it doesn’t seem like we’re getting any closer to finding our way out. I remember something about the Beacon Hills preserve being quite sizeable, but with the amount of time we’ve been wandering, occasionally even running frantically, we should at least see some measure of change in the composition of trees and plants around us. As far as I can tell though, it looks the same as when we started.  
  
I am just about to pile some branches for future directions when I hear a muted thump behind me. Spinning around I see Scott sitting against a tree looking so dejected it’s like he’s about to just decide to stop breathing since it’s such a bother.  
  
Knowing I have to tread with care, I squat down beside him and put a hand on his knee.  
  
“You alright, buddy?” I ask him.  
  
He snorts and turns to look at me.  
  
“No!” he snaps, petulant. I have to remind myself that we’re both under strain here and I sigh deeply to let some of the pressure out in a non violent way.  
  
“I’m sorry about this, man. I didn’t exactly plan for us to get lost out here, y’know?”  
  
He thuds his head back against the trunk of the huge tree and closes his eyes.  
  
“I know, I know. It’s just really starting to freak me out and I just want to go home. I wish I was with Allison watching a movie or at your house playing games and stuff. This camping trip-turned-nightmare really wasn’t on my _to do_ list.”  
  
I don’t know what to say to that that I haven’t said already, so I just squeeze his knee and get back up.  
  
“Let’s keep going. If we don’t find our way home tomorrow, my dad is sure to start a search and they have dogs to sniff us out and everything, so we just have to stay alive until then,” I try to joke. By Scott’s expression I did a poor job, though.  
  
He gets up heaving a deep sigh and drags his feet along after me, whining at his phone every so often and demanding regular breaks to sit down and mope a bit. When dusk descends, we are in a new part of the forest, but not in a place that seems familiar or is any less dense than the part we came from, so when my companion begs for another rest, I turn around and suggest we pitch the tent instead.  
  
We are trying to conserve our food and water, so after a meager meal, we crawl into our sleeping bags and this time there is no tense silence and we help each other haul the bags up to hide them between us, to protect them from another sneak attack.  
  
You would think that with us being so wound up from a stressed day, we’d have trouble falling asleep out here with the forest sounds invading the tent, but I barely remember settling in; almost instantly my eyes fall shut and darkness prevails.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
I almost expect waking up to some sort of horror or disaster, but when I open my eyes in the morning, Scott is fumbling around, trying to put his socks on.  
  
“What’re you doing?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.  
  
He looks at me with a groggy expression, his eyes seemingly not wanting to focus.  
  
“I just need to pee, man, go back to sleep.”  
  
Well, I _am_ still tired, so I nod and flop back into the softness beneath me, soon falling asleep once more.  
  
I slip out of a weird dream to hear an odd rumbling. At first I think it must be a vehicle idling close by, so I launch out of my sleeping bag and wrench the tent door aside. The rumbling intensifies and it momentarily confuses me, until I see the source.  
  
It’s not a car.  
  
It’s what we came here looking for, and what we’ve probably been running from the last two days.  
  
A werewolf.  
  
A fucking huge one at that. Not that I have any previous personal sightings to compare to, but this _monster_ is almost taller than me while still on four legs. His hackles are up and his lips drawn back to reveal razor sharp fangs, blood still dripping from the jaws, and my flight instincts go through the metaphorical roof. I need to get out of here now! Then I remember, Scott! Where is he? He never came back after watering the trees! I stare back at the thick blood covering the werewolf’s teeth and muzzle and almost whimper out loud. Is that the remains of my best friend?  
  
Panic is tearing at the corners of my mind, begging to be let in and let loose, but I stand my ground. To panic now would be as good as signing my own death warrant.  
  
The werewolf takes a few slow steps forward and even as I’m fighting the impending panic with all I’ve got, there is still a, admittedly very small, part of my ADHD riddled brain that is running around in circles, trying to note everything about the huge beast; its coarse looking brown fur, the glowing, red eyes and the long claws that dig into the dirt when it flexes those massive paws.  
  
By pure instinct I take a step back and the growling picks up a notch, going right through me, making the bones in my body vibrate with its intensity. I try to surreptitiously survey the area, but Scott is nowhere to be seen and I have no doubt that if the werewolf reaches me, I will be wolf chow. Running also seems like a really bad idea, but I can’t think of any alternatives. I went into this preserve with expectations of wandering around with Scott, talking about all the things we’ve neglected to catch up on the last months while he’s been completely obsessed with Allison, and perhaps snapping a few pictures for the report Jackson and I were going to hand in. I didn’t come in here prepared to face any real danger. Which, looking back, is the stupidest things I’ve done all my life, with the possible exception of the time I decided to serenade Lydia in the middle of literature class with a poem and melody of my own making.  
  
Coming into a forest looking for werewolves only armed with a flashlight, sarcasm, and a map really wasn’t one of my better ideas. The proof is right in front of me, wafting its disgusting breath into my face, the smell of putrefied flesh and hot blood making my stomach churn violently.  
  
The huge beast bares its teeth even more, in what resembles a deranged, wicked smile and licks his lips. My heart is thundering along so fast I’m sure it ought to have exploded at this point, but my ever stubborn bad luck isn’t going to let me go that easily, no.  
  
Just when the werewolf is preparing to jump forward, his muscles coiling to spring, a roar booms across the small clearing, the trees throwing the echo back and forth, confusing my senses. My ears are still ringing when a big, hulking form barrels into the werewolf in front of me, forcing him sideways. They snarl and growl, rolling around in a blur and I can hear clothes ripping, the impact of large bodies and claws rending flesh, the sickening squelch of teeth sinking in and ripping out chunks of muscles and tendons, occasionally a crack of a bone accompanying the horrifying symphony I am the sole witness to.  
  
Bile is rising in my throat and I fight to keep control of my trembling body, which is high wired with adrenalin by now. Blood is quickly covering the ground around the two frothing beasts and I am struggling to keep breathing. I want to run away as fast as possible, but one of the few things I still remember in my horror stricken state is that running triggers the chasing instincts in the wolves... who are currently occupied with each other! Perhaps this is my only chance?  
  
Before I can change my mind or lose my ability to think at all, I turn on my heels and kick off, running full tilt away from the werewolves. Just as I pass a thick oak at the edge of the clearing, the fighting noises die off and a lone howl erupts. It’s pure reflex to look back, and when I do, I see the brown werewolf from before lying unmoving on the forest floor, his throat still bleeding sluggishly. His rival is bent over him and I can’t help but notice that his form is more humanlike, although it’s bulkier and hairier than your average man. His clothes are shredded and hanging off him in tatters, exposing a completely gorgeous body and a well muscled back.  
  
As I watch, the werewolf on the ground is shrinking, going back to his human form, his injuries remaining. Right before my eyes I see the red in his eyes drain out and get replaced with a golden amber glow. The smaller werewolf standing above him is shaking uncontrollably, his own form expanding and fur sprouts all over him, his arms lengthening and thickening as they turn into front legs and the rest of his clothes rips and slides off his huge form. From my research, I recall that this is what happens when a beta overpowers an alpha, thus becoming the new alpha himself. As soon as he’s down on four legs he whirls around and his now red eyes zero in on me, his gaze unrelenting in its intensity.  
  
To my eternal shame I actually shriek when the huge animal launches towards me. I don’t want to turn my back to the wolf, but I really want to get far, far away from here as fast as possible, so I run like I’ve never run before, my legs burning and lungs straining. The thump of heavy paws from behind me seems to be getting closer and it’s only my panic that keeps me going. Even with the amount of running the lacrosse coach insists on, I am not used to running this fast or this much and my breath is wheezing almost as bad as Scott’s when he’s getting an asthma attack.  
  
Just as I am jumping to avoid a grasping branch of a beech tree, I feel the toe of my hiking boot get caught in a protruding root and even before I actually go down, I know what’s coming. I am, and will probably always be, impressively uncoordinated, so it’s no shock to me when I face plant into the leaves and shrubbery on the forest floor.  
  
The instant the world stops spinning, I scramble to get up and a sharp pain flares in my ankle. I look back, expecting there to be claws through my boot, but there is nothing. The moment it takes me to realize I must’ve hurt it in my fall is the moment the werewolf needed to reach me. The massive weight of him crashes into me, forcing me back to the ground hard. He settles a large paw on my chest and I can’t help the whimper. Is this how I’m going to die? Alone in the forest with an enormous beast wafting his killer breath in the direction of my sensitive nose? Not to mention the fact that my dad will never find out what happened to me or why I didn’t return from this stupid camping trip.  
  
Oh my god, when, and it’s not even a question of _if_ , he goes looking for me, he could easily get killed himself! Tears burn in my eyes when I realize I will not only get myself killed, taking away the only family my father has left, I will also be the indirect cause of his death.  
  
My panic is steadily building, when suddenly the weight on my chest disappears and a cold, wet snout presses into my stomach where the shirt is riding up a bit. The shock pulls me out of the downward spiral and I squawk in surprise. Shit, that is cold!  
  
This werewolf is slightly smaller than the other one and its fur is much softer looking and nearly coal black, making the red eyes stand out even more. In a weird way he seems less menacing than the brown beast from before and some of the terror clouding my senses lift enough for me to notice that this werewolf isn’t growling anymore, neither is he actually tearing my flesh from my bones. In fact, he’s snuffling a wet muzzle up under the hem of my shirt, his breath tickling across my abdomen. I truly don’t know how to react to that and in my confusion I rely on my usual fallback for situations that bring me out of my comfort zone - babbling.  
  
“Um, so, you’re a werewolf! A freaking werewolf, with the teeth and the claws and everything. Never actually knew you guys had red eyes, guess the other witnesses never really had time to observe the smaller details, huh?”  
  
I utter a very manly squeak when the wolf huffs and I swear he looks up at me with the same exasperated expression everyone but my father and Scott adopt whenever I let my vocal talents loose on them.  
  
“God, please don’t eat me! I am sure I will taste really bad and there’s no meat on me, I’m one hundred percent geek and sarcasm, no room for yummy fat and muscle. Which, you know, I could develop if I wanted, I’m just more a _sitting in my room exploring the wonders of the internet_ kind of guy,” I say, gesturing with a hand as I speak. The wolf flicks an ear and his eyes lock onto my flailing hand, so I promptly stuff it in my pocket. No need to tempt fate.  
  
Mister Werewolf uses his snout to shove my shirt further up my chest and he sniffs my belly button, which tickles a lot, but this is not one of those situations where laughing would be an appropriate, or even sane, response so I pinch my lips together. It’s a lost effort though, when a wet, slightly rough tongue pokes out and swipes across my stomach, combing the hair below my navel sideways. The sound that bursts out of me is a mix between a giggle and a squeal and the huge animal standing over me starts, retracting his tongue. I honestly don’t know whether to be disappointed or not. Apart from the tickling it had felt sort of... nice? Trying hard not to wonder about what that means for my mental state, I try to push myself backwards a little. Since I’m not dead yet, there is a possibility that this particular werewolf isn’t as ferocious as the other one and perhaps will allow me to go?  
  
I don’t get more than a couple of inches back before an ominous growl reverberates off the trees around us and I instantly still. The huge black beast places a paw on my thigh and his muzzle returns to my belly, rucking the shirt up all the way, leaving it under my chin. My heart is still hammering away at a frantic pace, which I am sure the werewolf can hear with his heightened senses and I try to breathe deep and slow to calm it down, but with a real life monster up in my personal space that’s just not going to happen.  
  
The wolf sniffs all over me, my chest, my arm pits - which, eew! - and even my groin before his muzzle returns to my belly button. He licks into it, the weird sensation making my stomach do a somersault, and moves up, the broad, warm tongue sweeping over my right nipple. My brain immediately shuts down.  
  
A freaking _werewolf_ is fucking licking my _nipple!_  
  
Holy fucking shit!  
  
Now, my nipples are overly sensitive, I discovered that much very early on in my life and since I started exploring my sexuality, I have taken full advantage of that fact. Any stimulation of them will give a lightning fast response below my belt, and even with a werewolf on top of me, my teenage hormones don’t disappoint. Instant erection!  
  
Normally, lying on my back in the forest with my shirt under my chin, sporting a massive boner, would be mortifying, but my brain is maxed out with all the panic and terror, so I really can’t spare a thought to how this must look. Nobody is even going to know. Or, so I think, until the wolf on top of me whips his head around and draws his lips back, emitting a low growl. It takes a few moments before I can hear what his enhanced hearing picked up on much earlier. There’s a loud trampling through the undergrowth, interspersed with cursing, and soon I recognize the voice.  
  
Scott!  
  
He isn’t dead! I am simultaneously tremendously relieved and also starting to panic again, because what will the wolf do if Scott stumbles upon this scene?  
  
“Stiles!” Scott yells, sounding close to panic himself, his breath wheezing a little, which sets me edge really fast. Does he need his inhaler?  
  
The werewolf’s growl increases in volume and ferocity and I can feel the vibration transfer through the paw on my leg. Without thinking of the momentous stupidity of my action, I reach out a hand and dig my fingers into the thick fur on the wolf’s scruff.  
  
“It’s just Scott, he won’t hurt you. Please don’t eat him, alright?”  
  
I nearly wet myself as the werewolf whips his head around and glares at my hand. I can’t bring myself to remove it though. It’s not like I could restrain him if he truly wanted to jump at Scott, but I can’t just let it happen. That’s my best mate out there somewhere, wandering around lost and possibly hurt, and it’s my fault he’s even here in the first place.  
  
Instead of timidly withdrawing the hand still clutching a fistful of silky black fur, I tighten my grip and maintain eye contact with the wolf. His hackles rise slightly and he bares his teeth, and that’s when I remember that this kind of staring contest is like a challenge in wolfy language so I quickly avert my eyes. The growling doesn’t seem to stop and I struggle to recall any mollifying gestures and the first that springs to mind is baring my throat. That doesn’t really seem very tempting in these circumstances, but if it will help both me and Scott by placating the beast, what choice do I have?  
  
Swallowing convulsively, I tip my head back and a little to the side, exposing my jugular to the werewolf. For a few seconds the rumble continues, but as I keep my position it tapers off and immediately after, I feel the wolf’s teeth settle loosely over the delicate skin of my neck, signalling his acceptance of my action. Soon after, his tongue is lapping up my throat and across my jaw, where he nips surprisingly careful before backing off and sitting back on his haunches at my feet.  
  
I am equally stunned and fascinated by our exchange, but right now what is on the forefront of my mind is helping my poor friend Scott, who is still stumbling around somewhere close by, judging by the noise.  
  
Sitting up warily, I keep my eyes on the black wolf, but he is still relaxed and only observes me offhandedly, his ears whipping about in different directions, seemingly listening to both the commotion arising from Scott’s progress, or more likely lack thereof, and the natural sounds of the forest. Daring to press my luck, I grab a low hanging branch and use it to pull myself up with. When I experimentally try to put some weight on my injured leg, the pain shoots through me in a vicious stab and I hiss and wobble on the spot. It doesn’t seem like I’ll be walking out of here any time soon.  
  
Shooting him an apprehensive look, I address the werewolf.  
  
“Um, can I call Scott over here without you eating him?”  
  
The only answer I get is a disdainful glare, so I sigh and raise my voice, calling out for my friend. It takes a couple of long minutes before my ever faithful companion bursts through some bushes to my right and he freezes instantly when he sees the wolf sitting beside me.  
  
“Um, Stiles, what is that?” Scott asks with a trembling voice.  
  
I can’t help but snort at him, because really? _Really_ Scott?  
  
Mister werewolf seems to agree with me, judging by the huff he emits. I swear it looks like he wants to roll his eyes too.  
  
Scott isn’t looking like he wants to believe what his eyes are telling him though, so I grit out, “It’s a werewolf, Scott! What else could it be?”  
  
I can hear his swallow from where I stand and he doesn’t move closer, despite it being obvious that I am standing on one leg, holding on to a branch for dear life.  
  
“He won’t hurt you, Scott, if he comes close just bare your throat to him and he’ll back off. I need help here, my leg is hurt.”  
  
Scott looks doubtful and keeps eyeing the big hulking form still sitting passively beside me. Eventually he takes a few cautious steps and when the world doesn’t come crashing down on him, he walks steadily towards me, although still slowly. He reaches me without any reaction from our furry bystander and pulls my arm over his shoulders, taking some of my weight.  
  
“What happened to you?” I ask.  
  
He mumbles, while a dark blush colors his cheeks, “I got lost while finding a bush to pee behind and couldn’t find my way back to the camp.”  
  
A sharp bark startles us and we twirls around to see that it came from the werewolf, whose teeth are now all on display in what amounts to a very toothy grin. He seems sort of amused, but Scott clearly isn’t fluent in werewolf body language seeing as he visibly shrinks in on himself making a terrified face.  
  
“Alright,” he says, voice only slightly squeaky, “How are we going to get out of here? We don’t have a map or a phone, and we weren’t really in luck with the walking out of here, even _before_ you were injured.”  
  
I have no idea what to say to him and my mouth is just hanging open soundlessly. I look around me and squint at the trees before pointing in the direction I think I came from when running from the werewolf.  
  
“Our camp should be somewhere in that direction, I think.”  
  
Scott eyes me dubiously.  
  
“You _think?_ ”  
  
Before I can answer, there is the cold snout back at my belly skin. I meep and look down to see the wolf’s muzzle poking in under the hem of my shirt again. Scott’s eyes are comically wide, but he seems to believe firmly in the _freeze and maybe it won’t see you_ approach, and is standing as still and as stiff as a marble statue.  
  
The werewolf gives my stomach a lick before withdrawing his snout and walking a few paces in a direction a little to the left of the one I pointed out, where he pauses and looks back at us.  
  
“I think he wants us to follow,” Scott whispers and I struggle for a few moments with an overwhelming urge to make some inappropriate _Lassie_ jokes before nodding and, with Scott’s support, limping after the huge animal leading the way.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
After a good twenty minutes of limping through the thick undergrowth, we suddenly emerge in the clearing where our tent is pitched. It’s not until we round the tree I nearly collided with when I fled, that I remember the other werewolf, who was left here. I don’t even manage to croak a warning before Scott heaves me into the camp and I see that the brown werewolf is gone.  
  
The blood and upturned earth is enough to make Scott stop dead in his tracks though.  
  
“What the hell happened here?” he yells, which is honestly quite excessive, seeing as I’m plastered against his side.  
  
“I got attacked by another werewolf and this one sorta came in out of nowhere and well, I guess you could say he saved me... Without him I’d be dead in any case.”  
  
I shrug at Scott’s shocked expression.  
  
“Let’s just get our stuff packed up and try to get out of here.”  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
Our bags are packed and settled against a tree while we try to decide what to do about our situation. Obviously, we’re still just as lost as we were before, but now we know that there are several man eating beasts out here, the prospect of walking around without any real defense is a bit more daunting. Just when I’m about to slump back down to the ground in defeat, Scott looks up and suddenly exclaims, pointing to the werewolf, “What about him? Can’t he find the way out?”  
  
Feeling stupid for not thinking about this myself much earlier, I turn around to see the werewolf looking distinctly grumpy, his ears flattened back and his nose twitching in annoyance. Doesn’t seem likely that he’ll want to help, but I figure we might as well ask.  
  
“Um, Mister Wolf, could you perhaps be persuaded to guide us out of here? I mean, you must be tired of having trespassers on your territory, and if you help we’ll be out of your... eh... _fur_ much quicker.”  
  
The big black wolf heaves an almighty sigh, but gets up and starts walking. Scott immediately drags me along, following the bushy tail between the trees in the dwindling light. Within half an hour my less-than-happy helper is wheezing with exertion, having a hard time supporting my weight on top of keeping up with the wolf, who seems to think the only possible speed is supersonic.  
  
I squeeze Scott’s shoulder, making him stop and shout out a “Wait!” towards the wolf. He turns around looking back at us and I gesture towards Scott.  
  
“We only have two legs each, alright? Well, actually I only have one functional and Scott is struggling with carrying my ass here!”  
  
The werewolf ambles back towards us and when he’s right in front of us he looks up at me, his eyes assessing, like he’s trying to find the answer to a complicated question. Evidently he finds what he’s looking for, because his form starts to sort of melt and writhe, the fur retracting and claws transforming into nails. His eyes go from luminescent red to a smoldering green.  
  
Soon, there’s a very naked guy standing in front of us and I can feel Scott blushing, just by the change in his temperature. I might have been busy blushing too if it wasn’t for the fact that all my blood is currently being rerouted south. Damn that’s one gorgeous piece of man! There’s something about him that sparks a flare of recognition in me, but I can’t place it and my brain is too busy cataloging all the hotness on display to be of any help. There’s broad shoulders, defined muscles, abs to die for and a stunning face with delicious stubble and unbelievable cheek bones. Trying to maintain a spec of my dignity I refuse to look lower than his belly button. Even so, I should probably worry about drooling right about now, which wouldn’t exactly enhance my manliness, but there’s so many and more pressing matters to concentrate on right now, so I let it go.  
  
Scott is an awesome buddy, who accepted me being gay without any fuss at all, but I am still grateful that my light jacket covers the front of my pants because I’m pretty sure it would be obvious that I appreciate Mister Werewolf’s smoking hot body very much, and good friend or not, I’m thinking Scott wouldn’t be too comfortable with holding on to me while I’m sporting an impressive hard on.  
  
While I’m trying to think of my grandma in a swimsuit to get rid of my unwanted erection, I notice Scott is gaping at the drop dead gorgeous man, who’s still just standing there glaring, and for a second I am confused. Scott isn’t gay so why is he staring like that? Right at that moment, of course, my eternal bad luck shows it’s ugly face, in the form of a daunting look of comprehension on my best friend’s face.  
  
“Hey!” he says, beaming, still looking at our werewolf buddy, “You’re the dude Stiles used to ogle on Facebook!”  
  
In the second it takes for my stomach to drop completely into my toes, I realize that yes, Scott is right. This is the guy sitting next to Jackson in that picture on Danny’s profile! The one I sat staring at for far too long. This is not good, I’m pretty sure my chance of survival just dropped to below half.  
  
I quickly jam an elbow into Scott’s ribs while trying to surreptitiously assess the anger level of Mister Werewolf. He’s standing passively, and when Scott utters an _‘oomph’_ at my jab, he merely arcs an eyebrow and slowly raises his arms and crosses them over his chest.  
  
“What?” Scott hisses, indignant, “You did! You even moped around when you couldn’t find out who he was!”  
  
I’m now so embarrassed that a bit of my blood has returned to my face, for the sole purpose of coloring my cheeks.  
  
“Can we drop that now? I don’t think you’re helping the situation here Scott! We want him to help us, not kill us, remember?”  
  
Scott looks abashed and then bends to rummage around in his bag, producing a pair of worn jogging pants, which he holds out towards the ever silent werewolf.  
  
“You want these?” he asks.  
  
Mister Werewolf steps forward to grab them and I swear that his nostrils flare for a moment, as if he’s scenting us, but then he’s suddenly gone in a flash and appears again twenty feet from us, his eyes burning red.  
  
Scott squeaks and hurries to heft me up again in case he needs to run, but our personal _Lassie_ has already gotten control over his eyes and is stepping into the pants. They are a bit tight on him, but at least they cover a little of the distracting sight. Before I can ask if we’re going to continue our wandering now that Scott has rested a bit, the werewolf steps up to me and grabs my arm, prying it loose from Scott’s grip.  
  
“Um, what are you- _Woah!_ ” I squawk when strong hands grab me and pull me up. The whole world tilts for a second and when it resettles, I am cradled against macho man’s chest, his arms hooked under my back and knees. His body feels scorching against mine and I am aware of my heart rate thundering through the roof. I can actually feel my pulse in my temples.  
  
Bright green eyes zero in on me and I can feel his chest vibrate as he speaks to me.  
  
“It’ll go much faster if I carry you. Your friend will also be better off not having to drag you as well as the bags.”  
  
“Um, sure,” I croak, trying to will my body not to react to the proximity. It’s futile naturally, but I’m sort of past caring at this point anyway. When he was in his lupine form, he sniffed my crotch and licked my nipples, so yeah... Worrying about this seems kind of redundant.  
  
Apparently Scott has decided to grow balls all of a sudden and steps up to our wolfish savior and exclaims, “I’m Scott, by the way, Scott McCall.”  
  
Mister Werewolf nods at him and offers, in his brusque manner, “Derek Hale.” Then he sets off again and Scott stumbles along behind.  
  
My mind is reeling. Now I know why I thought I knew Derek, even back when I saw his face on the picture on Facebook. I recognized him from the police file my dad left on the table after drowning himself in liquor one evening, back when I was only eight years old. Derek’s whole family burned to death in a horrible fire almost ten years ago. He and his sister survived along with an uncle who I don’t know the fate of. As far as I recall though, Derek and his sister left Beacon Hills and I didn’t even know they’d returned.  
  
My dad told me the Hales were polite and caring people, who kept to themselves a lot, but were never troublesome. He’d been crushed by their terrifying ending, and it had all happened so soon after we lost my mum, so it hit him extra hard because the wound my mother’s passing had inflicted, was still so raw.  
  
I return to the present when I’m jostled by Derek jumping over a fallen log and I try to be discreet about looking at his face. He has fine worry lines and there’s a permanent angry twist to his mouth, which combines to give the illusion that he’s older than mid twenties, which is the case if my memory serves me right. I also realize that I haven’t introduced myself yet and try to clear my throat silently.  
  
“I’m Stiles by the way. Thank you for helping us and uh.. for saving me back there. Who was the other werewolf?”  
  
Derek throws me a quick glance but shows no emotion when he says, “My uncle. He heard you talking about exposing werewolves and he wanted to stop you. When stealing your map and phone and trying to scare you off didn’t work, he got mad and lost control.” Then he shrugs like it’s no big deal and I guess for him it isn’t.  
  
“Is he okay?” I ask, just to be polite. It’s the man’s uncle after all.  
  
“Yeah, he’s fine. In the heat of it I ended up overpowering him though, so I’m the alpha now. He won’t come after you again.”  
  
I only nod, my mind occupied with the fact that my school report might make life difficult for Derek, his uncle, and whoever else is out there with him. It’s not like I’ve dreamt about exposing werewolves to the public before, so is it really that important? I mean, it’s not like people wouldn’t doubt us even with substantial evidence. Hell, Jackson might not even believe me! I decide to simply write a fictional description of a boring trip, traipsing around the woods and maybe throw in a picture of the pawprints for good measure. A little innuendo probably won’t hurt anyone.  
  
“Well, if he promises not to attempt to convert anyone into chew toys, I’ll trash the evidence and never speak a word about your furry dual life.”  
  
He stops so fast I almost topple out of his arms. His eyes burn into mine, intense and searching.  
  
“Honestly?” he asks, calmly.  
  
“Yes,” I say, trying to look my most sincere. Evidently it works because he flashes a brief and small smile at me. I revel in it nonetheless. I get the feeling Derek doesn’t smile much, so it’s important to savour it when he does.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
Just as the forest is thinning out, Scott emits a triumphant yell behind us and I turn my head to ask, when Derek murmurs in my ear, making the hair at the back of my neck stand up.  
  
“He’s got a signal on his phone, he’s already calling his girlfriend.”  
  
I eye him dubiously, while Scott pipes up in his _I’m talking to my girlfriend_ -voice from a little ways back.  
  
“How closely were you watching us?” I ask.  
  
The right corner of Derek’s mouth twitches up and his eyes gleam with mirth.  
  
“Close enough.”  
  
I narrow my eyes, but decide to avoid further humiliation and simply not ask. Just then, Scott yanks on Derek’s arm to ask him about where Allison can pick him up.  
  
After about a half mile more, we emerge onto a big lawn, or what would have been one if it’d been maintained, and I spot the burned out husk of the Hale house immediately. It looks haunted and depressing, but I manage to only cringe on the inside. Scott, of course, is so fixated on the car idling in the driveway, that he doesn’t notice anything else. It’s probably for the best anyway; tact is _not_ Scott’s most prominent skill.  
  
He races across the wildly growing lawn and practically jumps into the car and swiftly kisses Allison before she revs the engine and races out, full throttle down the driveway. I am still dangling in Derek’s arms and I can’t even be bothered to act surprised that my best friend seemingly forgot all about me in a matter of seconds. Been there, done that, after all.  
  
“Um,” Derek says eloquently.  
  
“Yeah,” I reply with fond exasperation. “Let me down and I’ll call my dad to come get me.”  
  
Derek tightens his grip on me instead and grunts, “Stay?”  
  
The question comes right out of left field and I’d be flailing if I could. He wants me to stay?  
  
“Why? So you can eat me?” I mean it to be a joke, but it sounds too suspicious, even to my own ears.  
  
Derek laughs, deep and long, before shaking his head.  
  
“No, I was planning on cooking dinner actually, you wanna join?”  
  
It’s very tempting, but I know my dad will be worried sick since I didn’t come home last night like I promised and I need to call him.  
  
“I gotta call my dad,” I sigh, squirming to get down, which sends a sharp reminder of my injury up through my leg, causing me to hiss in pain.  
  
Derek frowns and hefts me further up.  
  
“We need to get your to the emergency room, Stiles. We’ll take my car.”  
  
He proceeds to carry me around the house where a beautiful, gleaming black Camaro is parked. I think I might have moaned at the sight of it, but I can’t be sure. Derek just stuffs me in the passenger seat and drives off.  
  
I call my dad on the way to the ER and get an earful about irresponsible kids today, which is really a way to hide how worried he’s been, so I just let him get it out. In the end he asks if he should come and get me from somewhere, and I shoot Derek a look. His face is expressionless but even so, I kinda sense he’s fighting his inner wolf to keep from giving me puppy eyes. Might just be wishful thinking, but in any case, I tell my dad that I was invited out to dinner by the guy who rescued Scott and I out of the forest. I see no reason to tell him Scott is already long gone and that I’m currently on the way to the ER. That’d just cause him even more worry.  
  
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤  
  
After I get released with my sprained ankle wrapped up tightly, we go to Derek’s apartment in the city - apparently he doesn’t live in the Hale house permanently - and I offer to cook something from the Stilinski family recipes as a sign of gratitude.  
  
When I go to place a bowl of steaming spaghetti bolognese on the table, Derek jumps up and grabs it so I don’t have to balance on my crutches. I smirk at him for being so chivalrous now that he’s in human form.  
  
“I was going to hold off on the _Lassie_ jokes for the sake of your dignity, but you’re truly just a big, happy, tail wagging collie aren’t you?”  
  
He growls at me and launches across the kitchen. I don’t even have time to squeal before he’s on me and grabs me around the middle, hauling me back so I’m pressed into his chest. God, those muscles are unreal and my body instantly reacts. I don’t think I’ve suffered so many neglected erections in one day before. It can’t be healthy.  
  
Completely without my consent my body arcs slightly, which causes my butt to press into Derek’s crotch. Then, I freeze; there’s a definite bulge.  
  
“Um,” I manage to force out, my voice all gravelly.  
  
“Shit, Stiles,” he says in a strained voice. “Do you have to smell so freaking good?”  
  
My breathing is starting to get labored.  
  
“I smell good?” I ask hoarsely.  
  
“Uh huh,” he confirms, bending to sniff at the crook of my neck, sending tingles up my spine. I tip my head back, giving him better access and he instantly latch on, nibbling up to my jaw line. He’s so close and it’s simply too tempting for me, so I turn slightly, catching his lips. I haven’t really kissed anyone before, but I open my mouth slightly and Derek immediately surges forward, kissing me back fervently. My reaction is totally out of my control; as fire explodes in my veins, arousal running rampant through my body, I moan loudly and reach back, grabbing a very firm buttock, pulling Derek forward as I grind my ass back, making him growl softly.  
  
“Keep that up and I’m gonna fuck you right here,” Derek whispers in my ear, his tone promising very filthy things. My face splits in a huge smile and I’m willing to bet that I look like the cat that caught the biggest fucking canary _ever_!  
  
“Good!” I smirk.  


 

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed folks. As always, I'd love to hear what you think, so use that comment box below, pweeeeeaase? *bambi eyes*  
> Kudos are very, very welcome as well, if you enjoyed it.


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